


Pain

by RedHawkeRevolver



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, BDSM, Bondage, Caning, Cawke, Dom!Cullen, Dom/sub, F/M, Hair-pulling, In fact just don't even read this, It will make you feel dirty, Name-Calling, Pain, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Shameless Smut, Smut, Spanking, Sub!Hawke, Triggers, Using sex to cope, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, all of them - Freeform, all the triggers, kind of hate sex, many triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-28 21:51:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6346729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHawkeRevolver/pseuds/RedHawkeRevolver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke and Cullen cope with the shit storm that is Kirkwall in an interesting way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pain

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE THE TAGS PLEASE. If you know me or have read any of my stuff, this isn't my usual fare, but that being said, I set out to write super angsty hate sex with this one-shot, because that is 100% the hottest thing about Cawke as a ship in my opinion, and yet somehow, I feel like I put in the hope of a happy ending. I swear I'm incapable of writing angst for the sake of angst. At least for Cullen. (okay FINE, in general, I love happy endings OKAY). Anyway, this is super triggery if any of the above tags are a trigger for you, so again, I beg you to NOTE THE TAGS PLEASE. If you want some fun fluff or some happy porn with a little kink, visit my profile (actually do that anyway please ;) ) and check out literally any of my other stories :D So here you go. I can't go even a month without writing some Cully Wully PWP. If this is your thing (as clearly it is mine) enjoy and thanks for reading!

"I'm not at your fucking beck and call, Mage. This better be good." Cullen pushed past her through the doorway into her home without an invitation.

She attempted an indignant look but, Hawke supposed she'd already given him an invitation by sending for him in the first place.

"And yet, you're here, Templar, so maybe you _want_ to be at my beck and call?" She sneered the remark at the back of his head, shutting the door and bolting it behind her, trying not to acknowledge the tremble in her hands as she did so.

He rounded on her quickly, just as she turned back to face him. Before she could blink, his gauntleted hand had grabbed a fistful of her tunic and pulled her flush against the cold planes of his armor.

"Fuck you." He spit at her, his ugly snarl only inches from her face. "I am _just waiting_ for any excuse to lock you up in the Gallows for good Hawke, I swear by the Maker. You can't stay in the good graces of the power mongers in this cesspool of a city forever."

"I know." She said meekly, her tone having changed instantly at his touch. Too meek. Too quiet. So unlike her. Which is why she asked him to come. She mustered a bit of her normal bravado to ask him, "So are you staying or not…?"

For a moment she feared he wouldn't. For a moment she feared he would leave and she would be left alone with her hate and her regrets and her pain. She could bury herself in a bottle like Fenris did, or she could let things fester like Anders did, but that just wasn't her. Because those fucking fools needed her, she didn't have the luxury of self-indulgent brooding or high and mighty justice. All she had to hold it together was this. Him.

He didn't leave. He didn't leave because all _he_ had was her. They both knew it. She always sent for him. He always came. He never left. Until they were done.

"Are we alone?" He asked.

"Yes." She replied quietly.

He moved his hand to grasp harshly under her chin, jerking her head towards him. "Yes, _what_?" He growled.

"Yes, Knight-Captain." Hawke let out a long slow breath after speaking his title. It felt like she'd been holding that breath all day, all week, every moment since she'd last been with him. It felt _good_ to let that breath out.

"Upstairs." He ordered as he let her go.

She walked with measured steps, not too fast, not too slow, the steady pace helping to regulate her rapidly pounding pulse, beating with anticipation. His armor clinked and clamored as he followed her up the steps and into her bedroom.

The fire in the hearth was warm and welcoming, with its soft orange glow the only light in the room and its hisses and snaps the only sound. Hawke shivered at the thought of the sounds that would soon be filling her usually private, quiet space.

Cullen walked over to the desk in the corner and helped himself to a glass of brandy like he owned the place. "What are you waiting for mage?" He said casually, pouring out the spirit from its decanter into a glass and then downing it with one motion. "I don't fucking have all night to play these games with you."

They both knew he did, and he _would_ play with her all night. Nonetheless, Hawke hurried to comply. She removed her boots and set them neatly in the corner. The rest was easy. She wore only a short tunic, with nothing underneath. She had planned for this, after all. The garment fell from her shoulders into a pile on the floor. She stood naked, and watched him pour another drink. A shiver shook her and she wrapped her arms around herself. Unfortunately he must have seen her do it out of the corner of his eye. She wasn't able to drop her arms quick enough before he slammed his glass back on the desk and strode towards her.

"I knew you were going to be more trouble than you're worth tonight." He grabbed her roughly by the elbow and guided her to the bed grabbing her tunic up off the floor as he did so. For a moment she felt the familiar terror in her gut. _What was she doing?_ _Was she_ mad _?_ She'd just locked herself in an empty house with a fucking _Templar_! The fucking _Knight-Captain_!

Panic blurred her vision and her heart rose up in her throat as he jerked her arms behind her, holding them straight and tying them fast with her twisted tunic. Her breathing quickened and her magic tingled through her, thinking to escape from her trembling hands, but even before it could manifest, it was silenced.

 _Blissful silence_.

The Knight-Captain bent her forward over the footboard of her large bed. His heavy palm pressed between her shoulder blades, steady and strong, pushing her down and quieting her magic. She let out another long slow breath. It happened like this every time. It _needed_ to happen like this. She _needed_ this.

"Much better now, Mage, isn't it?"

"Yes, Knight-Captain." With an eager sort of comfort, she agreed with him. Hawke's eyes fluttered shut as she felt him step away from her. She focused on the crackle of the fire and the feeling of stretch in her shoulders from her bound arms. Her breathing had evened out and her racing heart was calmed. It was out of her hands now. _Life_ was out of her hands now and it could fucking stay out for all she cared.

She heard Cul... _the Knight-Captain_ shuffle around behind her where she couldn't see him. She thought he went and got himself another drink and then the familiar sounds of his armor being methodically removed echoed around them. Hawke counted each piece as it came off and was set down on the floor in a neat pile. She couldn't see it, but she knew. Never was there a wasted movement by the Templar. Never was a speck of his person ever out of place. At least what she experienced of him here. It was here, though, that she felt like who she really was, so she wondered if it was the same way for him. As if, somehow, out there in Kirkwall, they were both just puppets being tugged and pulled, but in this bedroom they could set aside the strings and move on their own.

Her thoughts had drifted, but she was snapped back into the present when he laid an open handed smack across her bottom. She jumped and bit back a surprised squeal. A brief electric shock of pain stung her backside, but it evaporated to nothing just as quickly as it came leaving her with a disappointing ache for _more_.

Everything was still again as she waited. Longingly waited. Joyfully waited. Her magic was dulled and limp inside her and her mind was focusing into a narrow clarity, a sharp and vivid reality where all else outside this room, outside the imposing presence of _her_ Templar were false shadows.

When the Knight-Captain's warm naked skin pressed up against her, she melted into it. He curled himself over her, covering her back with his chest, but he was careful not to let her feel his manhood yet. One of his hands stroked firmly up her thigh, then her waist, and then along the curve of her breast where it contacted the bed. His touch vibrated with the song of the lyrium inside him and no matter how many times she felt it, she was always struck by how _different_ it was. Fenris' lyrium was a wild blaze, bright and loud. His touch was frenzy, chaos, and it left her feeling trampled and confused. The lyrium that coursed through Anders, fueling his magic, fueling Justice, was driven and full of purpose. His touch pushed and pushed, inflexible, adamant and it left her feeling forgotten and alone.

Her Templar's lyrium was an ocean. Plunge in and all was dulled, muffled. Let go and you were carried along. Give in and you were drowned.

He leaned back and she was suddenly cold again with the loss of him atop her. His hands gripped her shoulders, fingers digging into her flesh for a moment before he move them to clasp around her neck. Encircling her throat he pulled her head backwards firmly enough that she was forced to go with his motion, arching her back, tilting her chin up and trying and failing to find a comfortable position to relax her trussed up arms.

He held her there with only his hands touching her for a long while. The muscles of her abdomen protested against the awkward demands being put upon them and her whole spine felt exhausted after only a few seconds. Her arms burned.

He rhythmically squeezed around her neck a few times. Not enough to obstruct her breath, just enough to let her know he could. One of his hands then traveled to her hair, wrapping her long braid around his fist once, twice, three times before he pulled it taut, exaggerating her strained pose.

She breathed. She wanted to moan. To squirm and complain and just curl up inside the soft bedding and sleep. Instead she begged.

"Please…" She hastily amended. "Knight-Captain, Please."

Still holding her hair he began. He struck her bottom again with his hands twice in quick succession. The sting was worse than the first slap earlier. These were deliberate and _hard_. She was ready. Unable to stop herself, she started panting and squirming as much as she could, but not to escape. She was _reaching_ for it, waiting for it, wanting it. When he reached for something on the floor every muscle in her body went stiff. It was the wrong thing to do because when the thick and unforgiving leather of his belt struck her, she cried out with regret wishing she would have relaxed and readied herself for the blow.

There was nothing for it now, it had started. Without pause he came down on her with his lash over and over and over again, harder, faster, louder. Each strike was perfectly placed, perfectly cruel, and perfectly painful. The pain throbbed and exploded inside every part of her. She had nowhere to go, no way to twist or turn so all she could do was _take_ _it_.

Everything disappeared. Her room, her mansion, Kirkwall, Thedas. Everything in her head was washed away to nothing but the white hot burn of pain. She could hear her own heart beating along with the rhythm of his hits. When she finally went numb, he knew. The skill he possessed in this regard was strange and she often wondered how he could know what it felt like for her, when her sensations changed. He always noticed the subtle signs of her body and its reactions. He threw aside the belt and let her hair go.

Hawke relaxed back on the bed catching her breath and allowing herself a soft and comforting repetitive whimper. Her Templar spoke.

"Shut up, Mage or I _will_ gag you."

With a sniffle and a hard blink to clear away the tears that had collected in the corners of her eyes, Hawke bit her lip and was silent. When he returned to her he had retrieved another implement from the collection she kept hidden in the chest by the door. When he struck her with the riding crop she heard it whir through the air. He focused on the backs of her thighs and worked them over with equal precision and care. The sting was so sharp and acute she couldn't help herself from squealing after only a few minutes.

Abruptly he stopped. The next thing she knew his hands were pulling at her hair again as he positioned her head to gag her. He tied a strip of cloth tight around her head and it cut into the angles of her mouth.

 _Thank you._ She thought it, but was unable to speak it. Biting down on the gag and pushing at it with her tongue, she braced herself for what would come next.

He worked his way up her legs with the crop again. Each blow a little higher than the last until he reached the apex of her thighs.

"Open your legs." He ordered and she did it. As wide as she could get them, pushing up on her toes, arching her back and thrusting out her bottom, she shamelessly exposed her sex to him, begging for his cruel attentions. When he hit her thighs again part of the crop caught her sensitive lips and she screamed against the gag. With quick little swats he beat her and she yelled and cried, mumbling slurred and unintelligible pleas until the familiar numbness started setting in. It wasn't a total absence of sensation, however, because combined with it was the feeling of pressure from the welts she knew she must have growing and emerging, puffing up with a bright red color, rising and swelling outward towards their maker.

By the time he was done with the crop, she was more than ready for him. Her cunt was dripping down her thighs and the heat of her abused arse was nothing compared to the heat of her core, the muscles of her sheath rhythmically clenching against air, waiting for him to fill her.

Her supplication earned her one more slap with his hand before he gripped her hips on either side. Gyrating his pelvis against her, he finally let her feel his thick cock. He rubbed up and down the cleft of her behind, teasing her, teasing himself. He wasn't able to hold out for too long because after only a few seconds he shoved himself inside her. The wanton moan she let out was telling in its need and its satisfaction. The growl of possessive dominance that escaped him was also telling.

Here they were, Champion and Knight-Captain, reduced to primal deviants drowning the pain they had no control over by redirecting it into pain they could control. These shared nights of catharsis and release were _everything_ to her and when he started to thrust deep within her, each movement drawing from him a throaty moan full of grateful pleasure, she knew they were everything to him as well.

"You are such a fucking filthy whore, Mage." He said each word clearly and deliberately and his confident baritone made her knees weak as he continued to fuck her. "I should take you outside and fuck you in front of all of Kirkwall, so they can see how well you know your place when it's taught to you properly."

_Yes, Knight-Captain._

His cock, slick with her arousal, slid in and out of her, stretching her cunt and tormenting her with a fullness that drove her mad, but brought her nowhere near her peak.

"You don't deserve to come on my cock, whore." He pulled out of her and she screamed, this time in protest, thrusting her bottom out to him, waiting, wanting to be filled again. He obliged her, but not as she envisioned. She tensed when he stroked the soaking wet head of his cock along the tight muscle of her arse. He pushed in slowly when she was slick enough until he was seated fully inside her.

She didn't dare move, or speak or scream. Layers of pain assaulted her and she fought to relax herself. She was grateful when he fisted his hand in her hair again and pulled her head back to whisper in her ear. His hot breath soothed her and his words took her to a place of helpless comfort.

"Just relax and take it." His normally smooth voice was rough around the edges now and deeper than it had been when they started the evening. He moved inside her, talking all the while. "You're going to take my cock in your arse and you're going to come on my fingers because that's what you want isn't it, Mage?"

He didn't wait for her assent. He shoved two fingers in her cunt and pumped them in and out as he pumped his cock in and out of her arse. "You're going to come when I tell you to, whore, and I'm going to fuck you until I spill inside you and you're going to thank me for it, aren't you?

_Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes…._

His fingers were calloused and indelicate and she _loved it_ and she wanted to come but she waited, sweating and panting and pleading with him silently to let her peak as she let out plaintive little sighs against the gag still in her mouth.

" _Fuck."_ He hissed at her, speeding up his movements. "I should take you back to the Gallows and tie you up just like this so every fucking Templar in the place can use you. I would choke you with my cock while you take it up the arse. Just. Like. This." Each word was growled through gritted teeth and punctuated by a merciless thrust into her. "Now come on my fingers like the needy slut you are."

It was immediate and intense and mindless and _fucking wonderful_. Her bliss exploded in her head and her legs gave out, leaving her limp inside his hands as he continued to pound into her. It wasn't long before he shoved in deep one last time and roared out his own climax.

When it was done and he was emptied and she was empty of him, they were both silent but for their heaving breaths and pounding hearts. She sagged against the bed lightheaded and clear-headed as he untied her, massaging the aching muscles in her arms as he did so. When she was free, he helped her fully up into the soft pile of sheets and pillows now mussed from their activities.

She was almost half asleep and it would be _good_ sleep, dreamless sleep. She smiled. She closed her eyes and waited to hear the sounds of him dressing and reassembling his armor before he inevitably left without another word. It was their way and it was what it was. She would send for him again soon and he would come.

But this time, he didn't dress right away. She felt the side of the bed sag under his weight as he sat on the edge of it. He sighed loudly. Hawke opened her eyes and sat up. His back was turned to her and he held his head in his hands. She didn't know what to do for a moment, until her eyes caught the black lines of a tattoo on his shoulder. It was a Sword of Mercy piercing a heart.

How many times had they been together and she'd never even noticed it? Looking at it now, she wondered how to interpret it. Was it his Templar sword piercing the heart, or was it his being pierced?

Without thinking she reached up and traced the ink delicately with her fingers. He didn't move but the lyrium inside him did, its sweeping currents coursing through him like waves in the sea.

"Stay." Though the word had most certainly come out of her mouth, she could hardly believe it had. She didn't know what possessed her to say it, what demon had entered her and formed the single syllable, voicing it aloud, but she repeated it. "Stay?" The second time was less a directive and more a hesitant question.

"I can't." He whispered, distant and tired.

Hawke let her hand fall away from him and onto the bed. She didn't know what this was. This was territory over which they had never tread, never wanted to tread and yet here they were.

"Then come back tomorrow." She wasn't thinking. She was just speaking what came to her. But it seemed right.

The Knight-Captain rose and dressed. He fastened his armor with practiced ease and didn't say another word until he opened the door and was halfway through it. He paused and she watched him, waiting.

"I'll…" He tried, started, then stopped, then tried again. "I'll be back tomorrow." And then he left. And Hawke slept.

Her sleep was restful, as she expected, but it was not dreamless. That night when she entered the Fade she dreamt of Cullen. And of tomorrow.


End file.
